


Overture

by romanticalgirl



Category: Mary Poppins (movie)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keeper of the wonders of childhood</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Written for miriad for [](http://yuletide.livejournal.com/profile)[**yuletide**](http://yuletide.livejournal.com/) 2008\. Thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=inloveiwthnight)[](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=inloveiwthnight)****for the beta.
> 
> Originally posted 1-1-09

Her shadow fell on the table and he told her not to move. He pushed away his coffee and spilled sugar on the wrought iron surface, tracing her in the woven pattern. He could sense her amusement and impatience, kind of a laughing mix of both, but she didn’t move until he was done, and when her shadow fell away, she was still there with her flat brimmed hat and the flower sticking up. He raised his eyes up to her, his entire body flushing as he saw her. He’d known she would be beautiful, but he didn’t expect her to be this, to be perfect.

“Have a cuppa?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and he was fairly certain that it caused the corresponding lift of the corner of her mouth, but she sat across from him nonetheless, adjusting her skirts around her ankles as she settled into the chair. “You’re Bert,” she said, almost as if she were informing him of the fact rather than asking for confirmation. She nodded succinctly and pulled a fine bone china cup from her bag, pouring herself some tea from the small pot next to his cup.

“I am.” He nodded in return, watching her delicate fingers as she settled the pot back on the table, careful not to mess up the sugar sketch of her shadow. “And you are…” He felt like he should already know the answer, but none of the names he could think of matched her in the slightest. They were either too weak or too simple or too flowery. As soon as she said it, he knew it, maybe even before she said it, as he said it along with her, just the faintest beat behind.

“Mary Poppins.”

He doffed his hat and bowed his head in her direction. “A pleasure, Mary Poppins.”

“The same to you, Bert.” She sipped her tea slowly, her gaze determinedly focused on him. “Do you believe in magic, Bert?”

“Magic. Love. Imagination. I am keeper of the wonders of childhood.” He waved his hand toward his supplies, a bundle of what most would term junk settled by the arched metal spokes that made up the fence dividing the café from the lawn. He could see that she took it for what it actually was – instruments and art supplies and whatever else he could fathom and fancy into delight. “You, Mary Poppins? Do you believe in magic?”

“That I do, Bert.” There was something in her voice that he couldn’t quite puzzle out, but her smile distracted him. “It’s a lovely day.”

“It is. Are you new in town?” He knew he sounded like someone Mary Poppins would disregard with a glance, but she made him lose his mind a bit, her voice and her smile and her eyes far too easy to get lost in.

“I blew in with the wind.”

“And it didn’t even muss your hair.” He lifted his cup to her and bowed his head again, a toast to something he didn’t completely understand. “Now me, I always lose my hat in the wind.”

“You should attach it to a string and let it dance in the breeze.” She smiled again and Bert let his gaze drop down to her legs, her skirts doing some dancing of their own. There was music on the air somewhere, drifting along in a rolling rhythm down the street and her toe was tapping softly. “I think that sounds lovely, don’t you?”

“The music?”

“Dancing. In the wind.” She laughed quietly. “Can you see us up there, Bert? Waltzing amongst the clouds? White threads of mist outlining our dance floor.”

“Magic,” he breathed.

“Indeed.” Her voice turned businesslike and she straightened in her chair once more, whatever imperceptible relaxation she’d allowed herself gone in an instant. “However, I’m afraid that’s not in the cards for us today, Bert. Not at all.”

“No dancing?”

“Not at all, as I said. Today, I’m afraid, we must journey to Brighton.”

“Brighton?”

“Brighton.” She stood and her skirts swirled again. “I thought we’d take the train.”

“Might I ask, Mary Poppins, what it is that’s in Brighton?”

The paper hadn’t been there, but then it was and Bert simply stared. “Amelia and Preston Scofield, Bert.”

“Of course. Amelia and Preston.”

“You met them, last weekend. A rather dour little boy, far too much like his father, and an impish little girl who peered at you from behind her mother’s skirts.” She gave him a matter-of-fact look, and he could picture the children, though their parents’ faces were blurred with distance. “As of two o’clock this afternoon, they will be in rather urgent need of a nanny.”

“I’d be a terrible nanny, Mary Poppins.”

“Lucky for us, I would not. Now, Bert, listen closely, because what I need from you is far more valuable than anything anyone has ever asked of you.” She stood up and pulled her dove-grey gloves over her fingers, gathering her garment bag and letting it tap against her side. “Gather your things. We’ve a rather long journey.”

“I’m not sure where I fit in.” He didn’t disobey her – he daren’t – but he did ask the question as he strapped on his instruments with the case of chalks and paints secured to the bottom of the drum. “If what they need is a nanny.”

“They need far more than a nanny. _That_ is where you come in.”

“I have some experience in sweeping chimneys, but…”

“Bert.” She shook her head and gave him a knowing smile. “Brighton, I’m afraid, is sorely in need of a musician, a sidewalk artist and a rather jolly fellow. I was told by my Uncle Albert that, in all three of those things, you are the man to see.”

“Albert’s your uncle?” Bert straightened to an almost military bearing. This woman was nothing like Albert in the slightest. “You’re…you’re _that_ Mary?”

Her eyebrow shot up, her smile most amused. “You know another Mary Poppins?”

“Cor, no. There _is_ no other Mary Poppins.”

Mary started for the train, obviously certain Bert would follow. “I think it’s safe to say, Bert, that you’re absolutlely right about that.”  



End file.
